CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
My muscles burn with the sweet fire of victory as I drag the rogue wolf through the underbrush, his form almost too heavy for my grasp. But I don't let go; the energy of the chase still pulsates through me. The rogue’s fur is a matted tangle of grays and blacks, similar to the storm clouds that gather overhead, threatening a downpour. He snarls, but it's a pitiful sound, more resigned than intimidating.
"Nearly there," I mutter to myself, pushing through the last thicket before the clearing where Torin and the others wait. The rogue wolf tries to dig his claws into the dirt, an attempt to slow us down, but it's futile. I've outmatched him in strength and will.
The sight of the clearing brings a surge of adrenaline. Torin stands at the center, his broad shoulders squar
